Breakfast Blues
by Rothalion
Summary: A little breakfast spat over manners sets off a volatile situation between Rios and Salem driving the younger man away. I just felt like kicking around some stuff with my OC's.


**Breakfast Blues**

Salem looked up from his breakfast when Nala shuffled into the kitchen still rubbing sleep from her dark brown eyes.

"Grab a plate, And-A-Half, right side up eggs, crunchy ham, and toast."

Nala smiled slightly and moved to the stove. She carefully slid two sunny sides up eggs, five slices of fried ham and a piece of burned, buttered soap onto a warmed plate. Then she placed the plate on the large granite breakfast bar and climbed onto the comfortable stool. After several bites Salem spoke.

"Food ok, kiddo?"

"Yup." She replied non-committedly. "Guess this is Blackened Bread, like daddy makes Blackened Mahi right." She muttered holding up a slice of the toast by its corner.

"Hey!"

"Just saying, Dragon One."

They ate in silence for a while, and finally Salem looked over at the sulking girl. She was usually a bundle of energy.

"What's up, Na?"

The nine year old looked up from her food, and studied Salem. He sat still, a slice of ham in between his left index finger and thumb, smiling his slight crooked smile back at her. She furrowed her brow, tried to smile but found it difficult. Her uncle's eyes were puffy, and despite his small smile Nala knew he was exhausted, and it made her sad.

"I heard you yelling at daddy last night."

"Me?"

Nala pulled the half gallon jug of pulp less orange juice across the island from Salem's side, took a long swig, and pushed it back to the middle.

"Yup. Then him and mom were yelling"

Salem frowned. He hadn't argued with Rios the night before so the comment confused him. He'd actually gone straight to bed just before 1400 hours, his exhaustion from the mission getting the better of him. He picked up another chunk of ham in his fingers and ripped a bit off. After he chewed it he grabbed the juice, downed a good sized gulp, wiped his lips with the back of his hand, and shrugged at the girl seated across from him.

"They're always yelling."

"Can I eat with my fingers too?"

"Sure, tastes better that way. I guess maybe I had a bad dream, and that's what you heard. Your fat old man and me are good."

"Ok. Did you get the bad guys and save the princess?"

Elliot nodded as he scooped some of his runny eggs up with the ham chunk, and slipped it into his mouth. In this case the _princess_ was four German journalists grabbed by the Taliban in Malaysia. Certain people, not willing to risk the slow rolling wheels of bureaucracy to save them, were willing to pay SSC handsomely to extract them. He couldn't give the girl details for a couple of reasons. One, he didn't talk about work, and two, there were always confidentiality issues. She did know though, that for the mission Salem would need to be undercover pretending to be yet another hostage. He had allowed Taliban raiders to take him so that, via a very advanced com link surgically inserted in his neck and ear, he'd be capable of talking the rest of the team into the ultra-secure facility. It had been a stressful few days, and the extraction; although it went well, had been nothing short of a fighting retreat. They'd taken no injuries aside from bumps and bruises, but for Salem it had been a nerve wracking wait. Every time they interrogated him, there was a risk that, although very well hidden, they would discover the clever little device, and execute him. The initial op to extract him and the four Journalists from the Taliban stronghold should have lasted twenty-four to thirty hours. Things went awry, and instead he'd languished for five days wondering if the team had failed, or worse yet forgotten or given up on him and the others.

"Everybody's safe and sound."

"I tried to wait up, but Brittney sent me to bed."

"S'ok. I was, we were beat kiddo. Pretty much just crashed, you know. One stiff shot a Stoli and out."

Suddenly Nala, leaning her head in her left hand, her elbow perched on the table paused with a chunk of ham at her lips sat up straight. Salem looked at her, and saw a touch of fear in her eyes. Before he could speak Rios' gravelly command voice shattered the calm kitchen.

"Where's your damned fork, Nala? How many times have I warned you about eating with your fingers? Elbows off my table."

"Uncle Elliot does it." She spat back defiantly, sitting up even straighter. "Said it tastes better this way."

"Your fucking uncle does a lot of things you're not allowed to do. Get a knife and eat your ham like a proper young lady."

Despite himself, Salem snorted, then took a swig from the orange juice jug. Rios snatched it from his hand, and slammed it down on the counter so hard juice shot up and out of it. Salem flinched at the big man's display of temper. He rarely allowed his temper to flare in front of Nala. That he was, showed just how stressful the op had been for him as well. It also seemed that Tyson hadn't gone straight to bed. He was clearly well hung over.

"From the fucking jug again, Salem? Sam hates that shit!"

"How is Samantha this morning?" Salem offered trying to turn the conversation. He asked the question with genuine concern. There was not even a hint of sarcasm in the query.

"None a your god damned business, Salem."

"Look Tyse, I didn't mean anything by it; the finger food. I'm sorry; I know how you and Samantha are raising..."

"Fuck you Salem. You know dick about raising kids. You wouldn't know where to fucking begin, you're damn near only an over grown, immature, fucking brat yourself. In my house, and this is _my_ house, my kid is gonna follow my rules. And for the record Salem, she is _my_ kid; the DNA paternity test proved it. So just..."

"The what?" Salem spluttered. "You did what, Tyson?"

Salem pushed his plate away and looked over at Nala who stood near the silverware drawer with a small steak knife in her hand staring gaped mouthed at her furious father. She'd seen Jerry Springer on television, Samantha and her girlfriends watched it religiously. So even at nine she was well aware of what the test was for. Salem blinked at her and she shrugged. He wanted to scream at the big man, to just defend himself, but his righteous indignation at Rios stooping so low, as to having a paternity test preformed using his DNA quashed any chance of that. The breach of trust was so enormous and so unforgivable that Salem's anger actually took a back seat as he tried to wrap his head around Rios' confession. He'd just spent five days being interrogated and knocked around because his trust in Rios' ability to get him back was absolute. He squeezed his eyes shut, and stood slowly up. He nodded his head in seeming affirmation to his partner's words; then spoke in a quiet, tremulous voice through quivering lips.

"Think I turned out ok, Tyse. Hell, half the time I didn't have any supper to pick up with my fingers. Never had anyone to fix my manners, or set me straight on being a gentleman either, but I do ok I think. Nala's a fine little lady, and you probably are right. I aint got any business being around her or fine folks like you and your lovely wife. I..."

"Dragon One stop it!"

"S'ok Nala. And as for DNA; well, a fuck of a lot of bad water's gone under our bridge Tyson Rios, but none as bad as that, or this or fuck me I..." He halted, coughed to clear his throat and sighed deeply. "I got no words, Tyse. I got nothing. I just, I just can't believe, I mean why would you do...excuse me, Nala, but I think I should roll, kiddo. Remember to keep those elbows off the table. I love you And-A-Half. Take care of your dad for me, okay."

He looked back over at Rios again and locked eyes with him. Facing his friend, his brother, the other half of his heart and soul and seeing not sorrow or apology in the man's dark brown eyes, but scorn broke him. This fight, if you could call it a fight, wasn't their first. But this time, this breach of trust had broken something deep in Elliot's heart. He looked away as the first tears slipped free, and headed for his truck, shirtless and shoeless despite the cool winter temperature.

Once in the truck he broke down. It would be a cold day in Hell before he crawled back this time; enough was enough. He checked his fuel and made for I-95 north. He needed to rest, he needed to feel needed and he needed someone he could trust. A part of him knew that Tyson hadn't come up with the paternity test idea on his own, someone, one of their own had been in his ear, and sowed the seed. That meant he could trust none of the team, after all, they obviously didn't trust him. He wiped away his final tears, and pulled onto the interstate. Ft. Benning was thirteen hours away, and he wanted to, needed to get there as soon as possible.


End file.
